Such Things
by Oldwickedsongs
Summary: Inspector Javert meets other things that go bump in the night and tries his luck against the Scourge of Europe. A BtVsLM crossover.


Author's Note: Been promising this for a while. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,  
That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.  
And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

**Such Things  
****By: Lady Erised**

Montreuil-Sur-Mer slept like an old woman; deep and unaware of the bitter cold outside. A light snow had begun to brush the streets in white that lasted only for a few moments before it disappeared into a graying slush. Among the gray one found Police Inspector Javert patrolling. He adored nights such as this, where reality peeled back and the shadows swallowed whole the world.

Javert's cheeks were red, and his breath was visible over the crisp air. He dug his chin deeper into the collar of his coat and settled into a pace that made his legs burn. His muscles snapped and hissed at him and he hadn't been able to feel his fingers since he first pushed out into the night hours ago.

He cared nothing for the cold, however. At nights like this, his mind could reach out beyond everything and dream. Though he never gave much to dreams, Javert accepted them. He'd be a poor cop if he didn't at least respect the impossible.

Tonight he was thinking of warmth, more so to the pass the time then to reflect a desire of it. Somewhere he could picture families gathered around some humble fire, and imagined for a moment a wife rising from her chair, nervously and staring out the door to wonder where he was. It was a silly exercise like most dreams, Javert was never missed but it was nice to believe he was.

There was a howl in the darkness beyond that made Javert look up. It had been too distinct to be the wind. A dog had been pinned under something perhaps, or a cat caught by a hungry dog. It had been too shrill and frightened to be human.

Still…Javert turned and followed the direction of the howl. There was nothing else to do.

As he walked, a strange thought hatched in his mind, made Javert hesitate. He found himself thinking of something he had not thought of since he was a child; the stories of creatures that prowled the darkness like the monsters he hunted; but that were far more intimidating.

Like a good Roma, he'd been raised on stories of Mulo, of Bibi, and Baba Yaga and taught to fear the darkness and respect her children.

Strange how now of all time, Javert would remember the stories and be made to retreat from their specter. Both a Gypsy and a cop can sense darkness and danger when it comes; the difference is in how each reacts. Javert laughed for no other reason then to break the silence.

A soft moan greeted him, compelling him into the darkness.

There was a woman kneeling in the middle of the street. She was wearing a pink nightgown by a deep green robe. The shift was so thin and the robe pushed back so much that it covered nothing. Her hair was silken and long, pushed wild about her shoulders and face. She was cradling her stomach as she sat there, rocking ever so slightly and completely oblivious to the world.

As Javert moved closer, he heard her humming. Javert was not one to be moved by scenes of pity. He was considered incapable of compassion or mercy, and would secretly fain to admit he relished in his cold reputation. That being said, there was something in seeing an evidently well-to-do woman sprawled out on the road like a harlot. She was clearly a lady, taken a tumble out at the wrong time. He readjusted the grip on his cane and stepped towards her.

He had only a vague idea of what to do next, including covering her exposed bits and ushering her out of the streets.

The woman looked up suddenly, making Javert stop cold. He had made no sound. He had been certain to do this, not wanting to startle one who was so obviously disturbed.

"You hear them." She said in a demanding tone. Her voice was distant and haunting. Javert found himself leaning closer to hear her. "They speak to you to, little Mouse, don't they?"

Javert, who had never in his life, been small or unassuming enough to be called a mouse, blinked and kneeled. "They?"

"The stars." She looked up, blinking snowflakes from her eyes. Javert, who never noticed these things, saw she was very beautiful. "They sing to you, Mouse. Do you sing to them?"

"What's your name?"

"Such a terrible fuss they make."

"Mademoiselle?"

The woman returned his gaze with lucid brown eyes that shifted under his. Her smile faded as she looked back down at her lap. Suddenly, as if on cue, the woman began to tremble. "Monsieur Inspector, I'm afraid."

"Of what, child?"

"Of what chases the mouse." Javert recoiled and to his surprise the girl reacted. Reaching up, she grabbed his wrist. Her grip was cold, firm but not strong. Still it made him relax his hold on the cane. The baton fell and clattered loudly on the street. "Don't move so quickly." She looked back into the darkness and had pulled Javert closer, so close her lips danced on his ear and against his whiskered cheek. "You'll show them where I'm hiding. We mustn't…"

"Dru!" Another voice snapped across the cold air. This voice was male, young and caustic, and very much annoyed. Javert looked up in direction of the voice. The woman's grasp on his wrist tightened, this time making him wince in pain. He glanced to her only for a second before looking back into the voice. "Drusilla, I swear this is the last time I let you go out to eat…from now on, we're bringing something home and eating like civilized…"

A man appeared. He too was handsome, common and clean, in browns and leather of a custodian. There was a workingman's roughness to him, commonness that border-lined on criminal. He appeared in stark contrast to the woman Javert cradled yet he clearly knew her.

The man saw her, looked relieved and pushed back an idle lock of brown hair from his bleached face. Then he seemed to see Javert, another afterthought, and took annoyance in him. The man folded his arms, sullenly and glared at Javert. "Found something to snack on, pet?"

The woman, Drusilla, put her other hand on Javert's back. "He's a vicious cat, mouse. Be careful."

Javert's hand groped the ground for his cane and tucked it into his coat as he stood. He had mastered hiding the cane as he walked. He rested his hand against it and let his coat fall over his arm. He palmed the leaden knob for comfort before lifting his chin and settling his eyes the man.

"Stay here." Javert told the woman before shifting his weight to his left. Both a Gypsy and a cop can sense darkness and danger when it comes; the difference is in how each reacts. "It's late to be out."

The pale creature- Javert caught himself, he was never one for euphemisms- smiled thinly and cocked his head to one side. "Yes it is." Came the invocation of bad French spoken by someone who could not so much master the language but had no desire to. "And how nice it is to see the streets protected by one so astute." The man chuckled softly and looked past him. "Dru, kitten. It's time to go. Angelus wants us home before…"

"No!" Drusilla said sharply. She had risen, soundlessly and appeared behind Javert. One cold hand was placed on the small of his back as her other hand reached up and tugged on his queue. She hissed into his ear in a terse, panicked voice. "He's cruel to me. He says such naughty things about me. Things that aren't true."

"Pet." The man continued, closing his eyes for a moment to collect thoughts and patience before speaking again, directly to the woman as if Javert had been not there at all. "Can we finish this quickly?"

"He's a monster." Drusilla whispered.

Javert did his best to ignore the woman's fingers on his nape. He was use to women, and a few men, attempting to curry favor with him by any means at their disposal. Normally, it made his stomach turn but with this woman…it was not so much her touch that lingered with him but rather, the way her voice crept into his skull and warmed his brain. Javert could not resist flinching when her fingers brushed his ear again. "The lady does not want to go with you."

"She a lady now?"

"You're a demon!" She snapped.

"So are you!" He returned evenly. "Now let's stop these silly games before…" He grew silent suddenly. His whole body turned, facing into the darkness of his right. Javert palmed the cane again. The man straightened and rolled his shoulders back. "Drusilla…"

"Spike."

Another voice inked through the darkness: female, lyrical, smug and about as dangerous as Javert's own. It intoned, like a god, without carrying much weight at all. The shadows pulled back, and pushed forward another woman who took one look at Javert and smiled. She carried herself stronger then Drusilla did, and judging from the way she cast a look towards the man- Spike? - and back to the scene, was more suited to a position of leadership above the two. "Spike, I told you not to upset her. Do you see what you've gone and done?"

She turned back to Javert, smile still gleaming. Javert flinched. The woman's rouge had smeared from the corner of her lips, painting a dark red streak across her chin.

It almost looked like blood.

"I saw you earlier tonight." The woman began, inclining her head to Javert. "I like your kind."

"Stay close," Javert whispered to Drusilla, and then louder to the woman. "My kind?"

The woman smiled. "Angelus. Look what Spike and Dru found for me."

At this yet another man, Angelus by default, appeared. This one was dark haired and just as possessive and commanding of the dark as the woman. Spike had taken a demur back step to make way for the companion. This one was the boss then. It was then Javert noticed Spike had begun to smile. Also of note was the sudden tally that Javert was facing three, including the woman to one. "Ah, good, Darla. You found your Inspector, I see. Now we don't have to hunt all night."

"Drusilla found him first." Spike interjected. "She'll have to share."

Angelus smiled then at Javert. "Lucky Gypsy."

Now two things happened when Angelus smiled at Javert. The first being the cultured flash of righteous indignation at being called by his race in a tone affection tone rather then an accusation one and second, and more important, Javert's brain took a strange turn then that caught him off guard.

A formless warning had been stirring inside Javert since he stumbled on Drusilla. A warning that been given image by Spike, words with Darla and now in quick succession, weight with the appearance of Angelus. A chill, and a memory as of the old childhood stories: of Mulo, Bibi and Baba Yaga shifted in his brain and sparked something innate in his blood, catching fire. Gypsies were taught to fear the darkness, and respect her children.

There was a kind of unorthodox truth sprinkled in and around sensational stories of demons, and monsters that until now, Javert had dismissed as stories.

Now, if it was possible, Javert began to think of them with credence.

He shook his head for a second, careful to keep his eyes on the men and woman. Drusilla was still behind him with her hand firmly on his back. He had begun to tremble. It was invisible, and motionless. He could not explain it either. There was nothing done to warrant such an action; there had been more of a change in the air.

Both a Gypsy and a cop can sense darkness and danger when it comes; the difference is in how each reacts.

The difference is a Gypsy is more likely to believe in evil. Was that it?

Perhaps. They were evil.

The cop in Javert sneered. The word evil belonged to demons, or bogeymen. These ruffians were just layabouts.

The Roma returned a thought smugly: they could be both.

Behind him, Drusilla had yawned. Her hand was still on his back. His hand was still on the cane. Angelus and Spike were still smiling. Darla had taken another step forward. "I watched you on patrol tonight. You were very handsome- strutting about all cruel and such. It's so hard to find someone who really enjoys the power anymore. Everyone prefers…beauty to cruelty." She bowed her head ands studied him like a horse. "And a big man like you. I bet you can do all sorts of cruel things to a little whisper like me." She smiled. "I wouldn't mind either."

"Clear out of here." He told them sharply.

"Or you'll do what exactly," Spike asked as he crossed between Darla and Angelus and cocked his head to one side as he continued on. "Tell me, big man…you'll do what?"  
An officer can look at Evil and never flinch. A Gypsy knows better then to try. Javert reached back behind him to take Drusilla's hand. He turned and smiled at her in what he prayed was reassurance. "Stay close to me." He told her. "I'll keep you safe."

She fell back slightly, confused, and then, as if deciding it was a game, smiled. "Take me away."

Darla and Angelus exchanged quick glances but it was Spike who acted. He had rushed forward, more angered then reasonable with Drusilla and her whims. Javert reacted a second after. He pushed his cane out throwing back his coat and slamming the baton against Spike's stomach. With his free hand he pulled his pistol free, took aimed and fired without waiting for Angelus to act. He ignored Darla.

Spike recovered, and looked up. It was then Javert flinched.

The handsome veneer of his face had been ripped away; replaced with a pronounced crown and bridge. His eyes flashed dark gold, and as he rose slowly, Spike spoke with a thickened accent that dripped between sharpened fangs. Javert felt himself curse as he stepped back.

"Stupid man…" Spike hissed. "I would have you left to the women…now I think I'll have my fun first…"

"Run." He told Drusilla as he took another step back. He discarded the pistol and swung the cane up. He swung about, blocking Angelus from Drusilla and readjusted the grip of his cane. "Run."

Angelus was the one who laughed. Javert swung about, blocking Angelus' way to Drusilla. To his horror, the two had also taken on the demonic façade that had enveloped Spike. Yet somehow he was not afraid. Not really.

Instead, Javert had a moment of clarity that came with a sort of suicidal peace. Both a Gypsy and a cop can sense darkness and danger when it comes; the difference is in how each reacts. There was some pride to be taken that he had faced it as an officer. Strange the things that run through one's mind when he's about to beaten to a bloody pulp…

Javert felt a sharp jab of pain in his neck and felt his breath caught. His body froze, and the cane clattered against the street as it fell. He tried to scream but found it was easier to gasp for air. Glancing around, he tried to assemble this thoughts: Angelus, Spike, Drusilla had stood like grisly visions of Death watching him contently…

The woman who had admired his cruelty…

He'd forgotten to watch the woman.

He saw the stars, between falling snowflakes. Something inside of him was burning, screaming for him to turn away, to fight but the invisible grip on his neck forced himself to remain still. His limbs grew heavier, and he was aware of being released and slumping to his knees.

There was talking overhead, and Drusilla was singing to the stars again. Funny, he heard this song before…

"You can't keep picking up strays in every city, Darla."

"Coming from the man who picks up hookers like trophies. Besides, I want a pet…and he reminds me of someone…"

"I'm so much cuter then him!"

A ring of laughter, followed by the feeling of fingers raking through his hair. A wet kiss on his cheek and the smell of perfume. He was only vaguely aware of the woman leaning beside him. "Now listen to me…I've given you a kiss and you'd be a poor gentleman if you didn't return the favor…"

Javert was aware of a hand being brought to his lips. As he kissed it, he was aware of something warm and bitter. His lips opened in surprise, giving him a better taste…

And the next thing he became aware of was his head hitting the street and a horse's angry whine. An angry crackle of wooden wheels rushing pass a moment later and the angered shouts. Drusilla shouted in pain. Spike shouted something in return. There was the crack of a whip as the carriage was brought back around.

Javert felt another kiss on his cheek and when he opened his eyes, they were gone.

The slush had crawled into his coat was burning his neck and cheek. Gradually he shook off the dream and pushed himself up. Dizziness overtook him, and he felt his stomach lurch. He was torn between what felt worst: his limbs were screaming, his lungs were burning and his stomach was depositing its contents on the snow beside him. Not to mention he felt like he'd been punched in the throat.

"Good heavens, Inspector…are you alright?"

Ah, yes. That would be, wouldn't it. He was quite certain what had just happened but it was something that no one would ever believe. How exactly do you start off with a half-naked woman speaking of stars and end up with two men whose faces changed into…what exactly?

And yes, it had to be the Mayor who saved him.

"You're bleeding." Madeleine exclaimed nervously, before swooping down. Javert became aware of those massive logs Madeleine called arms pulling him upright and reasoned somewhere in the back of his mind he would have been contented to remain in their, whatever they were, clutches then be rescued by this man. "What's…happened?"

Javert removed his glove, brushed the Mayor's hand from his neck, and replaced it with his own. He could feel the blood oozing between his fingers and scrambled desperately for an excuse. Despite what he thought of Madeleine; he still had no proof that the Mayor was anything but and even then he was faced with how does one explain, exactly, that he has seen Bibi and her companions?

"I fell."

There was a long pause from the direction of the Mayor. Javert waited. "Those people who were huddled about you…" Madeleine prodded quietly.

And he could continue to search; Javert had neither the strength nor the desire to respond. He tried to rise, (and after two failed attempts, he reluctantly took the Mayor's arm) and groped for his cane. The blood lost was making him very sleepy and he hadn't given the situation enough thought to get really unnerved just yet. That could wait for morning.

He winced as he bowed. "Good night, sir."

"You're not going to tell me what happened, are you, Inspector?"

"…the usual things that happen at night, I suppose."

"Keep your pride then." The Mayor returned, finally. "But I'm sending my physician after you this morning. You will be examined." A curt bow. "Good night, Inspector…"

Darla folded her arms, and watched as the Inspector disappeared down a back street, shaking and a little worst for wear but still human. For now. She stifled a pout, and rested her head against Drusilla as the younger pulled her arms around Darla's waist. "He was a naughty little mouse."

"That's the best kind, pet." Darla returned.

Angelus growled from behind them. "Well, wave goodbye. I grow tired of quaint little country sides; me and Spike require excitement…big cities." An long pause and then after a very pointed and dramatic sigh. "Tell you what, when we circle back here, if he's still alive…we'll pick him up. Though I doubt your interest in Gypsy meat will last that long…" He arched a brow and cocked his head. "Although, come to think of it, I heard the womenfolk are very…agile."

"We should check that out." Spike said, happily. "I for one volunteer!"

"Keep messing with the Tent-dwellers," Darla said as she turned to walk off, with Dru close behind. "One day…you'll regret it."

"Says the girl with the cop fetish…" Angelus returned as he followed suit. "Tell me exactly where you want him to stick that cane of his…"

There was cruel pang of laughter, and a song hummed to the stars overhead and then, as calm as a whisper, or a nightmare, the blackness swallowed them and there was nothing.


End file.
